Planks of Wood
by shi-chan
Summary: YamaGokuYama - Gokudera's anger-management-therapist said that he should channel his energy in to something more creative rather than destructive. Gokudera just wasn't expecting the 'side effects' of his therapeutic activities.


I do not own Kateikyoushi Hitman Reborn. Purely fanwork, nothing else.

Warning: Yaoi, possible OOC. Any misspellings or wrong grammar is unintentional. I am my own beta. I could have missed some stuff. And god I wanted this DONE!

Written for the 8059challenge community, challenge #26.

**PLANKS OF WOOD**

Once in a while Gokudera would believe that the shrink-doctor was right.

Gokudera had a nasty habit of blowing up as effectively as his own weapon of choice when it came to the little things and the big things in life. Sometimes, there was no reason for him to blow up at all. And he really didn't need to be convinced to go for a check up. People who went (and appealed advice) from the shrink-doctor were either insane or _really_ insane.

Gokudera believed he was neither.

Which was why, after a week of therapy - and poor doctor pissing his pants at the sight of the dynamites he carried around under his expensive suit jacket - Gokudera was in the yard of their hide out, somewhere far out and away from the main manor, planks of wood around him along with boxes of nails, a roll of rope and a hammer. His shrink-doctor advised him to channel his temper in to something productive, to see if he would take that strong energy and create something instead of damaging things. So Gokudera picked himself up a challenge.

He was building a tree house.

Smack in the middle of summer.

It didn't help that he was currently in Japan, where the summers were so hot that there was a mirage every two feet or so. So he was there - despite being under the shade of the trees - wiping the sweat off his brow, denim pants clinging to his legs and riding low, the yellow sleeveless shirt soaked to the very last fiber. He had long ago ran out of water, lemonade and soda, and frankly, he was too lazy to cross the one mile walk from where he was 'hiding' and building his tree house to get something to drink.

So he ignored his thirst, convincing himself that the afternoon sun wasn't really that hot, and that the temperature was dropping. Really, the convincing was working. A bit.

Wiping sweat from his temple once more, Gokudera raised the hammer, holding the nail in position and brought it down. And then proceeded to howl when the hammer connected with his thumb. There was a particularly good reason he chose to be a mile away from the main manor. People didn't need to know he had his fair round of accidents with the hammer; people also didn't need to know that he was building tree house like some sort of father for the kids. While the tree house was fairly nice - smooth wooden planks, cushions for the floor and maybe later, he could even throw in a tire-swing - and he was nearly done, Gokudera had to wonder if he was going to render his own hand useless if he had a few more hammering accidents. He honestly lost count after the eighth one, his stubborn nature and need to perfect the tree house overriding the pain and blue fingers.

Gokudera was a very hardworking person. Which was why, come a little before sunset, the tree house was already done and he was lying sprawled against the wood and grass, wet shirt discarded off somewhere amidst the canisters of sealed paint and boxes of nails. He had an arm thrown over his head, shielding his eyes from the slowly dimming light, hues of orange and bright yellows painting over his bare torso.

Really, which part of building something was supposed to be therapeutic again?

"Gokudera."

He didn't need to look up - he knew that thick accent, deep and quiet baritone from a mile away. "What?" Something cool pressed against his hand and he cracked an eye open from under his palm to see just what it was; it was a bottle of ice cold water.

"You done?" Yamamoto asked, letting go of the bottle once slender and pale fingers took hold of it.

"Hnn. Almost." The painting - green and red - was the only thing left to do.

There was brief moment of silence as Gokudera shuffled to sit up and uncap the bottle of water. He flicked a glance at the taller man who was quite busy studying the small tree house, dark brows knitted in concentration. He took a grateful swig of his water - he was so parched that he could have sworn water never tasted this _good_ - all the while wondering what was up the swordsman's ass because the tree house did look good, it was equal, straight and not crooked, and definitely becoming of a hitman.

"What is it?" Yamamoto asked, finally turning his gaze towards Gokudera, looking genuinely curious.

If Gokudera were a lesser man, the water in his mouth would have sprayed all over the warm grass. "It's a tree-house! Can't you see?" His temper was rising, threatening to boil over. He reasoned that Yamamoto had no sense of creativity or architecture that he couldn't even see he was building a tree house.

"Then ... isn't it supposed to be on the tree?" Yamamoto asked, staring at the wooden piece or architecture lying on the grass under a tree, looked up at the tree then back at the wooden structure.

Gokudera felt his lips twitch in to a scowl. "I know what I'm doing." So he missed the part that it was supposed to be on a tree intentionally. Really, the wooden structure could be easily mounted on a sturdy branch. Besides, the whole point of the exercise was for therapeutic purposes. Yamamoto didn't need to know that though.

"Did you forget the door?" Yamamoto blinked, circling the five feet height of wooden structure, looking for the said door.

"No, I did not forget the door." Gokudera grumbled, glaring. "I was going to saw one in a minute."

Yamamoto merely blinked at him - looking like that athletic and clueless teenager he knew years and years ago - before turning to the wooden structure once more. "Saw a door?"

"Why are you asking too many questions?" Gokudera ground out; really, of all the times Yamamoto decided to 'speak his mind' he chose now?

"Well ..." Yamamoto gave a small boyishly handsome smile, rubbing the back of his head in that teenager-habit that never really left him completely. "I was just wondering. You sounded like you were in pain."

Gokudera's other eye twitched. "What are you talking about?"

"Your ... cries. Tsuna sent me to check on you." Yamamoto said, cleverly avoiding - the sneaky bastard - the sure-to-come cursing and yelling. "Are you okay?"

"Fine." Gokudera sighed and plopped on his back on the grass. "Just ... fine."

Several minutes passed in silence and Gokudera was glad for it, no more questions, no more wondering and no more poking at the imperfections of his tree house. It was such a blissful silence, only the slight warm summer's breeze blowing against the trees and the sun setting further and further - what more could he ask for?"

"Are you going to saw some windows too?" Yamamoto - Gokudera saw - was crouching by one of the corners of the tree house, studying it intently. "I'd imagine it'd be quite stuffy inside without the ventila -"

"Look! Shut up about the tree house already all right? I get it, I get it." Gokudera was on his feet, stalking towards the former athlete, stewing in his temper. He got the point; he wasn't perfect.

"Gokudera -"

"This is therapy. I am supposed to build this house and vent out my -"

Gokudera jolted to a stop when the fabric of his jeans caught on one of the protruding nails around the corner of the wooden structure. Gokudera forced himself free but it was a huge chunk of fabric caught up on the nail and the brute force caused one of the wooden planks to pull free from it's hold.

Yamamoto was suddenly beside him, calloused and warm and on his bare hip. "Keep moving and the thing will fall apart."

"Hey, just because -"

"Hold still." came the silent command and Gokudera listened as he watched, nearly pressed against the taller man, as larger and darker hands worked on freeing the fabric of his pants from the protruding nail.

They were gentle hands, Gokudera noted, always careful to not press to hard against his skin, gently prying the fabric free with minimal damage to said fabric. They were slender hands, attached to a toned arm, trailing up to firm and broad shoulders. Gokudera knew Yamamoto practiced his sword with a dedication of a samurai; the patience and training did the man good and it was visible in his posture. In the back of his mind, he found himself wondering why he never noticed.

Once free, Yamamoto stepped back. "There."

Gokudera stared at the new hole on his pants, then back up at Yamamoto. The man had a quiet smile, small and disarming even, on well formed lips that always spoke softly, always spoke with a calm that no one in the Vongola seem to posses. It was a sight to behold and Gokudera idly wondered if the shrink-doctor forgot to mention that during the course of his self-therapy-at-home, he'd be ridiculously turned on by a family member.

"Look, Yamamoto," He said, something burning in his gaze as he took a step forward.

"How do you want it done?" Yamamoto asked, direct, no dilly-dallies, and brown gaze smoldering with something that caught Gokudera completely off guard.

"W-What?"

"How do you want it done?" Yamamoto repeated his question, not budging from his standing position even when Gokudera was but a few centimeter's away from touching his body.

Gokudera wondered if he was that readable.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Gokudera hissed in defense, not about to give in to this thing they were doing; whatever it was.

Yamamoto blinked, and just as the smoldering-heat were in his eyes a moment ago, it was gone. "Hmm, it's getting dark." The taller man said, shrugging. "Dinner is going to be served soon. You should head back. Tsuna is starting to _really_ worry."

Gokudera gaped - wide and openly - as Yamamoto turned around with a short nod and started walking towards the general direction of the manor. He was thrown off the loop, unsure what the hell to think because it was just that; what the hell just happened. His temper flared even more, bubbling over the edge as he yanked Yamamoto backwards, threw him against the wooden structure and held him there by the collar of his shirt.

"What the hell are you trying to pull off here?" Gokudera demanded, because he was caught of guard, leaving him open and vulnerable and unsure of what was left from right. Yamamoto didn't fight him, didn't utter a word of protest at being shoved so roughly against the wooden surface.

And then Yamamoto was looking at him again, a fire glowing in the brown depths that Gokudera rarely saw, not even when the swordsman was pissed during battle. He was drawn to that fire and he wasn't sure who moved first and when or how, but he had his tongue in Yamamoto's mouth and Yamamoto was writhing and moaning underneath him like a needy little thing.

There was a muffled thump as Yamamoto slammed the back of his elbow against the wooden structure just as Gokudera gasped out a 'touch me' against pliant lips. Gokudera also hissed when Yamamoto whined a soft 'ow' because in case the shorter man failed to notice, that did in fact hurt. Gokudera bit at the scar on Yamamoto's chin, fingers clawing and digging in to the broader frame, urging Yamamoto to, _godfucking damnit_, touch him already.

Warm calloused hands snaked down the waistband of his torn pants, sliding over firm butt-cheeks and shamelessly squeezing. Gokudera couldn't stop the gasp then, before teeth sank against the scar on Yamamoto's chin once more and hips grounded against the other man.

"A-Ahh - G-Gokudera - the - the wood -"

"Wood?" Gokudera gritted out, "fuck the wood. Stop being such a pussy and just -" Gokudera brushed their throbbing erections against each other, through their pants and underpants and wantonly moaned.

At the same time, he pushed Yamamoto further against the little thing he built, fingers fisting against the fabric of Yamamoto's untucked dress shirt and pulling. Buttons popped, one even ricocheted against his nose causing Gokudera to swear like a filthy sailor before he wrenched the blue fabric off Yamamoto's shoulders. It would have worked if the tie around the swordsman's neck didn't hinder the process.

Yamamoto gave out a slight whimper; one may even claim that it was a pained whimper.

Yamamoto arched against Gokudera, teeth grinding as those fingers sank harder still against the warm flesh of Gokudera's buttocks, and Gokudera shamelessly moaned once more.

"G-Gokudera -" Yamamoto _tried _to speak, but was silenced once more when Gokudera pressed their lips together in a heated and rough kiss.

"Why are you wearing a tie anyway? It's so hot outside and you're freaking wearing," Gokudera grabbed the knot and pulled, resulting in tugging Yamamoto's face (and lips) further against his, the knot sliding free. "a goddamn tie!"

The whimper that fluidly slid past Yamamoto's mouth made Gokudera's cock twitch. It made him all to aware of how tight and confined his over-excited bits were. At the same time, he didn't really want to let go of his old on Yamamoto's back and shoulders. Gokudera did the next best thing and ground against the taller man like a thing possessed, further pushing Yamamoto against the wooden structure and successfully eliciting another moan - albeit a bit strangled - form the swordsman.

"G-Gokudera, y-you really should l-let me -"

"Shut. Up." Gokudera hissed. What was wrong with this person? Why did he keep talking when he could be doing so much more with that mouth? Goddamnit, it was not even the time and place to be talking.

"N-No, Gok-kudera, you should r-really - ahh! - let me -"

Gokudera was always assertive and could be quite shameless too, even during battles. This, he thought, was a battle. He was going to fight Yamamoto to get that pent up frustration in him out and he was going to start by taking one of those slender hands and pressing it against his crotch. Just as Gokudera reached back, still rubbing against Yamamoto - who was fully arched against him - and feeling more than just a little 'wet' in his pants and nearing orgasm far to quickly, there was a loud creak, followed by straining noise.

What happened then, Gokudera will probably never figure out.

Somewhere in between grabbing that hand and sliding it against his hip so that those warm and sword-calloused fingers could wrap around his weeping cock while he prepare that obviously tight body to sink in to, the world toppled over in a mess of wooden planks, flying grass a few loose leaves from the tree. Gokudera let out a cry, more surprised than anything, palms hitting against the sharp edge from where the wood collapsed in a heap. He felt a few splinters bite into his skin, felt nails scrape against his arm and even embed in to the fabric of his clothes.

Yamamoto, however, cried out in shock _and_ pain. Whatever excitement and party Gokudera had in his pants promptly died at the pained twitch of Yamamoto's brows, and how he gritting his teeth to keep silent and calm, like nothing happened. They had landed in an awkward pile of wood and his own weight was completely against Yamamoto's. It was also obvious how Yamamoto had the sharp ends of the wooden planks digging in to his back; that in itself could not have been very pleasant or not-painful.

The party in his pants did, however, stir a little bit, because Yamamoto didn't look so calm or collected in that fleeting moment. He didn't look like he was in control, or that retarded baseball-player he used to scoff at during high school that somehow still shone through him now despite the dark lives they all lead. Mafia-life was never dandy after all. But the flushed cheeks, side-turned head, the toned body pulled tight, the heaving chest and the sweat glistening over tanned skin ... no, Gokudera couldn't help but feel the party indeed start to stir and cause a riot in his pants.

"Oi ..." Gokudera mumbled, tilting Yamamoto's face so that the man faced him before getting off him completely and pulling him away from the pile of wood.

Gokudera winced and actually felt guilty to see that some of the nails had scratched the through shirt and left red marks on Yamamoto's back.

"I - I told you to let me up." Yamamoto croaked out, rubbing a sore spot at the base of his spine as his other hand moved to straighten his ruffled and now a bit torn dress shirt.

"You did not." Gokudera scowled. When did Yamamoto say such a thing?

"I did. But you were _too_ busy to pay attention." Yamamoto said softly, the blush on his cheeks somewhat intensifying some more.

"Idiot." Gokudera scowled again, the blush on his cheeks rivaling the shade on Yamamoto's cheeks.

"It's such a waste." Yamamoto sighed, saying nothing about the pain he felt on his back as he straightened the the tie around his neck as he regarded what used to be a doorless and windowless tree house. "It wasn't so bad looking either."

Gokudera scoffed at the useless pile of wooden planks. "Accident." He mumbled.

They exchanged glances and for once after a long time, felt utterly young again. Feeling awkward, both cleared their throats and looked at everywhere else but each other.

"We should head back. Tsuna will worry." Yamamoto said, clearing his throat once more and casually shoving a hand in to a pant pocket.

Gokudera rubbed at his neck nodded. "Yeah, we should."

Another long moment of silence passed them as the sky slowly started to turn a darker burning orange, the heat slightly subsiding as a breeze blew past them.

"Well, we better going." Yamamoto said with a laugh.

"Yeah." Gokudera nodded, flicking a short glance at the taller man and feeling his cheeks color once more. He was going to have to sue the asshole of a therapist he paid. Said asshole really, really didn't mention getting sexually 'aware' as a side effect to this supposedly therapeutic act of building things or getting a fucking hobby to 'channel his anger out'.

Another long silence and this time, their eyes met.

"About the ..." Yamamoto gestured to the pile of wooden planks with an awkward tilt of his head.

"It's nothing." Gokudera dismissed.

Yamamoto gave him a curt nod at the reply, sliding in to that calm exterior he always had. Gokudera couldn't quite stop the slight twitch of his eyebrow.

"I'll be going on ahead. I need to get changed anyway before Tsuna sees ... well, this." Still looking calm, he gave a sheepish look at a hole around the sleeve of his dress shirt.

"Let's go." Gokudera nodded, walking ahead of Yamamoto, breeze ruffling his loose hair a bit. He couldn't quite stop the smirk from coming to his lips. Nor could he stop the still manic and wanting look from coming to his eyes as he gave the taller man a short glance over his shoulder, telling him exactly _what_ he _wanted_ with that single look. "I need to change too anyway."

The sudden flush and watching that calm exterior collapse in to shambles to bare that innocent face Gokudera believed died a long time ago was worth everything.

FIN

Errr ... yeah. Done now. My god, this had an insane amount of typos and mistakes. Somehow fixed most of it ... I think.


End file.
